Page 17 of Selfie
We have dozens of scrapbooks and albums. They’re treated like bibles—holy and sacred. Scrapbooking was a hobby of Mom’s, but when she got sick, it became an obsession. It was her mission to document as much as she could for Charlie. I was there. I got the memories. Charlie gets the pictures.
Hunching over, I study the four-by-six image of our mom at the beach. It’s rare she’s alone in a photograph. I must’ve taken this one. I remember this day because the sky was so peculiar. There was a purple haze over the entire shore. Mom and I stood awestruck in violet-colored sand, watching the ocean that looked like it was on fire the way the sun’s final rays were cast in bright red strips.
“Real hair. It was before she got sick,” I answer softly. Mom hated wigs. They were itchy and heavy, but she wore them after chemo took her hair, mostly for me, I think. So I wasn’t so obviously reminded every time I looked at her that our days together were numbered. “She didn’t know it yet, but she was pregnant with you in this one.”
Charlie screws up her face. “How can you be pregnant and not know it? Don’t you feel the baby moving in your stomach?”
There will come a day I’ll have to explain the nitty-gritty of sperm, eggs, and implantation to Charlie. That day sure as hell is not today.
“She hadn’t taken a test yet. You only know for sure when you take a test.”
“Can I ask you a question? But don’t be mad.” Her cautious tone already warns me I’m not going to like this question one bit.
“Sure, but tread carefully. We just made up.”
She folds her hands in her blanket-covered lap and taps the tips of her thumbs together. “Haveyoutaken a test?”
I let out a tortured growl.Again with this?“Charlotte Riley, I swear?—”
“You just said you don’t know for sure unless you take a test.”
My eyes fall shut and I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing through my exasperation. If she were any other woman, I’d be tempted to smack her, but because she’s my little sister, I have to spell this out clearly. “Do you understand this hurts my feelings? You don’t ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless you see the baby popping out. Even then, feigning a little surprise that she was growing a person is polite. It’s girl code one oh one.”
She squints one eye. “What’s feigning mean?”
Did she even hear my point?I take a steadying breath, schooling my irritation. “It means faking. So yes, I’m gaining weight because I’m not taking my…vitaminsanymore, and it’s very hard for me. So you shouldfeignsupport by not calling me fat, or bringing any attention to my body in front of our friends.”
The color drains from her face as her eyes widen and her lips fall apart. “Is that why you got mad and left me at the club?”
“I didn’t leave you.”
She cuts me a look that says what she’s not allowed to say out loud—Bullshit.
“Okay, fine. I didn’t leave you for long,” I add.
“You were gone ages,” she snivels. “What were you doing?”
“Scoot.” I gingerly close the scrapbook and set it aside on the floor. Pulling back the comforter, I wiggle in so close to my sister, I’m practically sitting on top of her. After covering us both back up, I nudge her knee with mine under the blanket. “I met a guy.”
Charlie grows quiet for a moment as she stares straight ahead. “Was he cute?”
“So cute.” Because she’s way too young for me to say “rideable.”
“Was he nice?”
I nod. “And polite, and considerate. Kind of funny, too.”
She scowls at me. “Is he in your bedroom?”
“What? Of course not. I left him when I heard you singing. Speaking of which, do you realize how dangerous that was? How did you even give Lennox and Dex the slip and get on stage?” I thought I made my position quite clear when I snatched that signup form out of her hands.
“I didn’t escape them. I told them you texted me and said it was okay.”
“And they believed you?”
“I guess.” She shrugs without an ounce of remorse on her face.
Rookie mistake. Always verify the text. Eleven is one of the worst ages for this nonsense. They are young enough they’re still believably innocent, but smart enough to be very skilled at the art of lying.
